The Virgin
by Bow-Tie Queen
Summary: On a case of a serial rapist/killer, Sherlock gets a bit closer to the culprit than he would like, thanks to an unknown source working right under his nose... [RATED M: Rape, violence, language later on, Character death as well.] PAIRINGS: Molly Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

_I was gonna do a rape Fanfic or a sick fic and hey, heads won, rape it is. I don't own Sherlock or any other mentioned characters; they belong to the amazing Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, Mark Gatiss , and Lord high Steven Moffat._

Sherlock lay back on the sofa, John was nearby, blogging. He sighed at his friend. Not one case in six days, poor bastard. He had four nicotine patches, probably just enough to keep him sane.

"John, must you think so loud?" Said Sherlock, breaking the silence.

"Sorry. Look, Sherlock, it's been a while, have you checked the site?"

"Not a damn thing. Oh God, this is infuriating! So BORED!"

As he said this, John's phone buzzed.

"What does Sarah want now?" He asked gruffly. John didn't bother to ask how he knew.

"Might see her soon. Will you be ok?"

"Hmm." He replied, clearly not caring. John gave a half smile. He texted back saying he would be there in about ten minutes.

"Something ought to turn up, a serial killer perhaps." He said to the now standing Sherlock who was furiously playing the violin. Then he stopped, looking out of the window.

"I think one just has." He said. John walked over to the window where a flustered Lestrade was walking from his police cruiser to the door. A satisfied grin crept upon Sherlock's face as he went to answer the door.

"John, get your coat, let's go."

"Wha-no! I need to see Sarah!"

"Oh, you can see her any day, come on!" John sighed and got out his phone:

Sorry, gonna have to cancel, family emergency.

JW xxx

Technically he wasn't lying, Sherlock counted as family. Sort of. Sherlock was downstairs and had opened the door before Lestrade could even knock.

"Three, all raped and strangled, no found connection. Gotta be a seven at least, surely." Said Lestrade before Sherlock could ask.

"Six and a half. Nonetheless, seeing as you have kept me deprived from any cases over the past few days I shall accept. I'll follow behind." He said walking past him and hailing a nearby cab. John gave a look of apology and Lestrade returned it with a look of "gotten used to it by now."

They arrived to the scene, greeted by the unwelcome faces of Anderson and Donavon. Sherlock didn't care; his mind had been incredibly lazy and needed to be put to work again. He scanned the walls. _Loose nails, pictures used to hang here, ripped down by the look of the bends. Didn't want them up there. Divorced then, unhappily, partner was cheating. _He looked over to the body.

"Name?" He asked

"Rebecca Thompson. This was her home address if you were wondering."

Sherlock observed the body. _Late thirties, Hair was cut, quite recently. Trying to get over the stress of the divorce? Likely. Marks around the ring finger, they were married. Mark is red, the ring was there quite a while, took some effort to rip off. Wrists, signs of cutting. Depression highly likely. _He took out her phone. _Photos, hardly any without a man, her husband, didn't get round to deleting them. Let's see, Facebook. Last status update:_

**I hate my life, I don't deserve this. I just want to ****_die!_**

Speak of the devil.

"Well, got anything?" Asked Lestrade.

"Victim was in her late thirties, was in a state of depression after her husband left her, and turned to self-harm. Posted on Facebook that she wanted to die."

"Oh how do you know that?" Said an annoyed Anderson.

"Shut up Anderson, you're a bad influence on the apprentices. It's clear by her walls, phone and the obvious cuts on her wrist that she was depressed. Judging by her hands, her husband left her, probably after cheating. She wanted to die, there are signs."

"Probably didn't figure she would go to such a brutal end." Muttered John.

"Ok and the murderer?" Asked Lestrade. Sherlock walked over to the window, there was a broken bottle and a small amount of blood. She had tried to ward of her attacker, and had managed to strike him, but he overpowered her.

"He's careless, forgot to clear the evidence. Send it the labs."

"How do you know it's not hers?" Asked Anderson. Sherlock turned with a look of annoyance.

"Do you see a wound anywhere, Mr Chief of Forensics?" John suppressed a giggle. It was a crime scene, he couldn't.

"Lestrade, if you wouldn't mind, the other two houses?"

"Of course, this way, follow the car."

He sat in his chair facing away from the door, fingers drumming on the table. He heard the door open and stopped.

"You're back." He said, emotionlessly.

"Yes sir. Its Sherlock, he's onto us."

"Of course he is. I expected no less from him."

"What do we do?"

"We wait."

The man at the door stood aghast.

"Wait? This is Sherlock Holmes, what are we waiting for?"

"What he waits for on ever case." He now turned to face the man. "For him to make a mistake."

"He doesn't make mistakes."

"Then we shall make one for him. A good nudge in the right direction never hurt anyone. One in the wrong direction however, well that's different. The virgin will soon be on his knees. You may go now."

"Ok. Goodbye Mr Moriarty."

"Mr Anderson." Said Moriarty in dismissal.

Sherlock was on full thinking mode. He had seen the other two, a morbidly obese man, clearly a comfort eater due to his alcoholic mother, and a bullied teenager who had dyslexia. Each had posted in a form of social network that they wanted to die. And their wishes had rung true. He suddenly had an idea. He pulled up his laptop and typed in the names of the victims on Facebook. They hadn't blocked their friends list, clumsy. He searched all three, searching desperately for a mutual friend.

John watched from the kitchen, always fascinated by his friend. He had tried to get him to eat something, but he should know by now that he never eats on a case. Sherlock continued to scroll, his eyes darting back and forth across the screen. And then he stopped, staring, and put his hands to his face, closing his eyes.

"Sherlock, Sherlock what have you found?" He asked, concerned.

"These people were unrelated, in every way possible. They never met. But they knew, or thought they knew, one person, one person who could track their every move over a website as simple as Facebook."

"Who?" he asked coming over, and he froze when he saw the profile he had brought up. The name was Rich Brook, but the profile picture was Jim Moriarty.

_Bit shorter than I would of liked, but I'll try and make the next one longer. Reviews very much welcome_


	2. Chapter 2

_So many followers! Makes me happy J anyway, onward!_

Anderson sat in his bed, a washed with worry. He knew deep down what he was doing wasn't right. But it kept him safe. Him and dear Kate.

If only he could tell her.

He knew what he was doing was wrong, and he was going against every fibre in his being, but he needed the money. And plus, Moriarty promised great things. Sherlock would most likely report to Lestrade tomorrow. He decided he might want to be there for that.

Sherlock was indeed there tomorrow, displaying his evidence to Lestrade.

"Ok, so Moriarty would friend them when he found out about their depressions then kill them. Like Saw, basically."

"Something like that. It would most likely be one of his branches. He'd get the information, supply it to them for a fee, and help them out."

Lestrade thought for a bit.

"We'll have our best detectives on it. Anderson will want to help out too."

"I would hardly call Anderson your best."

"Yes, we'll the others are either off or unavailable, and he's a good forensics officer. Oh by the way, the blood tests came back, it's not him."

They had a sample of Moriarty's blood from the roof of Barts, always handy to have around.

Anderson was by the door, out of sight. Sally saw him and winked.

"What's up, sexy?" She asked.

"Shhhh, hang in a sec."

"What is it?"

"Just...just listening."

"Alright. You seem tense lately babe, is Kate getting suspicious?" She asked, concerned for their secret. He smiled, stroking her arm.

"No, no it's fine. Just tired is all." She smiled back.

"Call me later, kay?"

"Ok."

Later, Sherlock was in the lab, looking over the broken glass for fingerprints. If the killer was careless to leave behind his DNA, he was either really stupid or really desperate. Being one of Moriarty's men, he'd say the latter. But the fingerprints were small, he was quite young. By the amount of force it must have tacked to pry it from the woman, the force that was applied was minimal, so he was weak.

He thought. Young, weak, sadistic, my, this is getting rather fun. Perhaps an 8, serial rapists and/or killers never often score lower than seven. He was curious to get to know this man better.

Molly walked in with Sherlocks coffee. She seemed somewhat uneasy. Sherlock couldn't help but look through her. Bags underneath her eyes, she hasn't been sleeping. She has a slight tremor, certainly not fear induced, she'd been drinking. Something had happened.

"Molly, are you ok?" He asked. She seemed shocked he would ask.

"Yeah, yeah just...just life y'know?"

"Molly, don't lie you really are terrible at it, what's wrong."

"I...I just..." Suddenly tears welled from her eyes. "It's just my father, he died yesterday."

Sherlock was shocked. Molly didn't look right, all upset. She was sitting now, tears falling freely from her eye. Sherlock hesitated, but wrapped his arms around her. She returned it, crying into his short. Sherlock wasn't sure what to do. It seemed holding her was enough.

Molly couldn't believe Sherlock was really hugging her. She decided to take this opportunity; she may never have it again.

"I-I'm sorry I just-"

"No, no don't apologise it's fine."

"I miss him so much; I almost wish I could DIE!"

Sherlock froze.

"Molly may I borrow your phone."

"Um, yeah sure I suppose." She said. He pulled away from her and got the phone, going into Facebook and then friends. Sure enough, there he was. Rich Brook. Sherlocks grip tightened around the phone.

"Wh-what is it Sherlock?"

"Rich, do you know him?"

"Well, he added me on Facebook; I suspect I've just forgotten him. He does look dreadfully familiar..."

Anderson stood in the rain as it fell heavily onto his hair, chilling his body. A figure walked next to him, sunglasses on, despite the weather. He knew who it was.

"This better be important, you know I refuse to meet in daylight." Said Moriarty

"Oh it is, sir. Our man, he left DNA at the scene of the crime." Moriarty turned to him.

"If you're lying, I can make you into a wicked hat to match these shoes."

"I assure you sir I'm not. This man's an amateur!"

"Perhaps. Everyone starts out an amateur, everyone makes mistakes. I have high hopes in this young lad."

"Hmmm."

"I do hope you don't...doubt me. Are you?"

"Not at all. Sherlock will catch on soon. Any current potentials then?"

"One. A miss Hooper, recently deceased father."

Anderson froze. Molly, sweet Jesus not Molly.

"Is there a problem, Mr Anderson?"

"N-no, no problem."

"I thought so."

The clouds were beginning to fade. Moriarty lowered the umbrella he had been holding.

"Time to choose your side, Anderson. I pray you won't disappoint."

"Mycroft, please reason with me!"

John sighed, Sherlock had been yelling down the phone all afternoon. He had told John about what serious danger Molly was in, god knows he'd bodyguard her himself, but decided Sherlock had the right idea, consulting the British Government. He would be able to get someone there twenty-four-seven.

After another hour, he put down the phone in defeat.

"Well?" asked John.

"He can arrange someone in the next two days. We don't have two days, they'll be too late!"

"Sherlock, calm down, she'll be ok."

"No, no she won't, we need to protect her before Moriarty's men get to her first."

His phone buzzed. He grabbed it, quickly and answered with a deep fear in his gut. It was Molly.

"Molly, are you ok, what's happened?" He asked, hysteria gripping his voice.

"Help, me Sherlock, they're coming for-." The line went dead.

Sherlock ran for the door, not bothering with his coat, and grabbing John's revolver from the table.

Hope Molly's gonna be ok, oh yeah im writing it, I decide :D. Sorry if the updates aren't regular im doing some exams soon. Till chapter three J (PS sorry for the short chapter)


	3. Chapter 3

_Tests are marginally easy; English soon, that should be my strong point. Chapter three!_

Sherlock burst up the steps of Molly's apartment building, not bothering with the lift. He might be too late to stop the rape, but he could save her before the fucker killed her. He got to the door, and he didn't have time to pick the lock, but his shoulder was an adequate substitution. He burst in, taking slow steps, the L97 held in front of him.

He listened closely for sounds, any human sounds. The on-going silence disturbed him. He walked into the living room. The window was open, as were the windows of the three other victims. No blood or signs of a struggle. Molly hadn't even had time to protect herself. He felt an aching pain in his stomach. God, please let her be all right, please don't let my slow mind be the result of her...he couldn't even think the next word.

He looked at the floor. Dust, disturbed, scratches on the walls, leading to the bedroom. Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door, gun held in front of him. His eyes widened. Molly was on the bed, her wrists and ankles tied with duct tape, and a strip over her mouth. Her eyes were puffy from tears, and she mumbled uselessly when she saw him. Sherlock was about to go over, when

"Not so fast, sunshine." Said an unfamiliar voice. He was male, obviously, and had a strong British accent. He sounded young, no more than 18.

"Oh god." Said Sherlock, as if he were bored, when really his heart was pumping with adrenaline and fear for him and Molly.

"Hello, I was wondering when I should meet you, virgin." Sherlock tensed. _Virgin. _"Ah, I see you are familiar with my mentor."

"Mentor?"

The noise of footsteps filled the room.

"Yes, my dear, Mentor. Meet my protégé, Danny Archer. An amateur, sure, but I have high hopes. Danny dear, take away the gun. Let's not be rude." Said the voice of Moriarty. Sherlock turned, and sure enough, there he was, standing smug as ever. Next to him was a boy of about eighteen, with blonde hair and brown eyes. He was fairly pretty, but looked rather simple. _Must have dropped out of school, strange, Moriarty detests idiots almost as much as I. Is he close to him somehow, related perhaps? Unlikely, he's an orphaned only child._

"Yes, he may be dim now, but he'll learn." He said pinching the boy's cheeks. "As soon as he knows not to _LEAVE EVIDENCE AT THE CRIME SCENE!" _he yelled into Danny's face. Danny rolled his eyes.

"_Sorry, _I forgot. Next time I will."

"Hmmmm, yeah next time. You can go now, Danny-boy, I just want a teensy little word with dear Sherly." Danny Nodded and left the room.

Moriarty strode into the room. Sherlock was by the bed, he didn't untie Molly yet, he needed to wait until that _phsyco _was out of her flat.

"Well, this is a turn up." He giggled. Sherlock snarled.

"So, you find the victim,"

"And dear Danny gets the blood on his hands. Good agreement, really. In fact, very good. I was wondering, my dear if you could kind of, you know, back off."

"You mean just leave this, subjecting many other unfortunate bastards to your dear Danny?"

"Exactly, so what do you say?"

"Oh I see, like when we met. You just want me to leave this case neatly where I found it."

"Yep that's it. I swear I'll have a lovely and difficult crime picked out for you in the next week or so."

"And if I decline?" Jim giggled and nodded to Molly. Sherlock had almost forgotten she was there.

"You end up like she would have."

Sherlock looked back at her. He shivered very slightly, invisible to the naked eye, but not to Moriarty.

"Oooooh, nervous much, are we? Well, my dear, I think I've made myself clear. You can have her back, she was just bait. She certainly played her role well." He finished before leaving the bedroom with a slam of the door. Sherlock ran to Molly, undoing her bonds and holding her close as she whimpered softly.

"Did they do anything to you, are you hurt?"

"N-no, they just wanted to get to you. What are you going to do?"

"It's not obvious? Lestrade will be notified and he'll get the glory."

"But Ji- Moriarty said that…"

"He doesn't scare me. My brother will arrange some means of protection if necessary."

There was a bang at the door. Molly flinched, terrified.

"Shhh, don't worry its Lestrade. John undoubtedly called him." He said in annoyance. Sure enough, at the door was Lestrade, with Sgt Donavon, Anderson and John.

"About time you lot showed up. Sgt Donavon, see to Molly, she's in shock."

"Is she hurt?" Said Lestrade.

"No, no they just wanted to get to me."

"They?"

"Long story."

Anderson watched as Donavon comforted poor Molly, and Sherlock talking to Lestrade. He walked over to the window, feeling he had no need to be here. The streets of London were busy as always, but he noticed one figure not moving, just staring out at the traffic. He saw the thatch of brown hair and the rim of the sunglasses. The man got out his phone and began to text.. A few seconds later, Anderson's phone buzzed.

**He has notified them. He will ask his brother for protection**

**See that this becomes a problem.**

**JM**

Anderson paused, staring at the phone. No. Molly being put in danger was bad enough, but not Sherlock. He hated Sherlock, sure, but he couldn't do it. It would destroy him.

**I can't do this anymore, I want out.**

**MA**

The man began to text again.

**What a shame. Well, it pains me to do this, it really does.**

**Kate or the kid?**

**JM**

No, no, no, no, no, no, not Peter, not his son. He sighed. His fingers shook as he typed.

**I'll do what I can.**

**AM**

**That's more like it. Don't worry; I'll make dear Sherly recognisable.**

**Imagine destroying a face like that. Unthinkable.**

**JM.**

Anderson lent against the wall, hands trembling. What was he going to do? He looked over to Sherlock, now talking with John, laughing with him. He always wondered if they were sleeping together, or if they just had a strangely close relationship. Sherlock gestured to the battered door and they left. Anderson sighed. _Sherlock, I'm so sorry._

_Sorry, it's been ages! Pretty short update aswell, sorry. I'll be able to get them up more frequently by the end of the week. Please review if you get the chance J_


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm back from the dead! Soooo sorry this has taken so long. Thank you for the reviews, Thestral-Rose12, I'm truly touched! Any who, Alonsy!_

Ff4

They got back to 221B as it was getting dark, arguing about the foot that John had found in the oven. Mrs Hudson was by the door.

"Oh, Sherlock, your brothers just popped round for a visit!" She said casually.

"What?" Replied a startled Sherlock. He ran up the stairs, and sure enough, Mycroft was on the sofa, drinking tea from HIS mug.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Yelled Sherlock.

"What, I can't visit my little brother when I want to?"

"You know and I know that this isn't a social call." Mycroft sighed.

"Fine. But am I not required to be concerned when my little brother is threatened by a rapist?!" He bellowed out the last words.

"What?!" Said John in confusion. "You didn't tell us that!"

"It didn't seem important."

"Sherlock, what did he say?"

"Something along the lines of a nasty death if I notified the authorities."

"AND YOU NOTIFIED THE AUTHORITIES?"

"Oh calm down what else was I meant to do?"

"You could have contacted me!" Said Mycroft firmly. "I can double the surveillance around 221B, perhaps get a bodyguard?"

"No bodyguard." Said Sherlock firmly. Mycroft sighed again.

"Fine then. I wish you all the best, John Watson, don't plan anything with Sarah at the moment, my brother may need you. Goodbye, Mrs Hudson, thank you ever so much for the tea." He said before reclaiming his umberella from the coat stand and leaving.

They were silent for a while.

"Why didn't you tell me that they threatened to rape and kill you?"

"What do you think? Didn't want to worry you."

"Worry me? Sherlock this is serious you could have told me in the cab!"

"Oh what does it matter, as long as Mycroft's here, we have nothing to worry about, the one advantage of having several governments as a brother. Meanwhile, go take Sarah out tonight, stay the night, I promise I'll be fine."

Anderson was outside 221B, smoking a cigarette, a hood over his face so as not to be recognised by John who was leaving in a cab. The minute he left, he heard the voice ring in his earpiece.

"Do you see the cameras?" Anderson turned his head to the white camera placed at the corner by Sherlocks bedroom window, pointed to see people just entering and leaving. There was another, high up, pointed at the windows. And there was undoubtably more inside. Mycroft wasn't making this job any easier.

"Attach the bugs in your pocket just below them and enter the code. Should be a high inconvenience for SOMEONE." Anderson shuddered. Making sure not to be caught on camera, ha attached the bugs to the wall and typed in the code 46639. That would keep it attached. He did the same to the other when he was sure no-one was around.

"The others in the house will be deactivated by now as well." He chuckled down the earpiece. "Thank you, my dear, you've been most helpful." Anderson nodded at no one in particular. He knew he could see him.

He got a cab home, pulling his jumper off, it looked ridiculous. He got out, and through the door, never so relieved to be here.

"Daddy, daddy!" Said little Peter, running up to him, and hugging him. Anderson hugged him back, so happy to see him safe.

"How's daddy's little soldier?"

"Good."

"Good! Where's Mummy?"

"Bedroom." He said before running off to resume his place in front of the television. He went into the bedroom. Kate was on the bed, and she didn't look happy.

"Sit down, Craig."

"Look, Kate."

"I said sit!" She said, her voice faltering.

"Kate what's the matter?"

"It's you! Always going off, coming back looking terrified, I know that you have your job, but you don't work that much! What have you been doing."

"Kate look I ju-...I'm just sorting things out that's all." She turned away from him.

"Who is it?"

"Wait, what?"

"Who have you been seeing, Craig?"

"Hey, wait a minute, what makes you think I'm seeing anyone?"

"Oh don't play stupid with me! You think I don't see the look on Greg's face when that floozy Donavon walks in. It's her isn't it?"

Anderson's mind spun quickly.

'This could be my ticket out! Do I dare take the risk? She was gonna find out about her sooner or later.'

"It was, wasn't it?" She yelled.

"Please, quiet, Peter is in the next room."

"Well, was it it?" He sighed

"Yes, it was her." He whispered. He could almost hear her heart break in two. She put her head in her hands.

"...Kate?"

"I think it would be best of you left now, Craig. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Kate-"

"Now, please!" She said raising her head, tears in her eyes. He stayed for a few seconds, before leaving the room.

Peter was looking up at his dad, clearly having heard but not understood some of their parents conversation.

"Look, champ, daddy's gonna be away for a while. Can you be a brave little soldier and look after mummy?" The boys face fell.

"How long?"

"I don't know yet, daddy's got to sort a few things out." He kissed the boy on the forehead and left. The minute he walked out the door and shut it, his legs gave and he lent against the fence, sobbing to himself.

Sherlock sat at home, trying not to think of Jim Moriarty and "Danny."

He decided to visit his mind palace.

DANNY: SHORT FOR DANIEL, CAN BE ABBREVIATED TO DAN. POPULAR NAME, IN THE FICTIONAL WORLD IS ALSO KNOWN AS THE SON OF JACK TORRANCE IN WELL KNOWN STEPHEN KING BOOK AND MOTION PICTURE, THE SHINING. ALSO SERIAL RAPIST, PUPPET OF MORIARTY.

He opened his eyes. He was annoyed, mostly because his mans palace wouldn't leave him alone, and also because he had such a small file on Danny.

He put his head in his hands, wondering why he was freaking out about this so much. He was safe. He sighed and got to the kitchen to put the kettle on. As long as Mycroft watched him, he was ok. He heard a small sound, but ignored it. Most likely his paranoid subconscious. He felt his pocket buzz and he took out his phone, it was Mycroft:

_Surveillance Cameras unresponsive, care to explain?-MH_

Sherlock froze, then walked into the living room. The window was open. Shit. Suddenly, he felt a large crack on his head he saw stars, and fell to the floor unconscious.

Jim Moriarty loomed over the sleeping detective, and slowly a smile spread across his lips.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Virgin."

_feel like a bit of a bitch, being do mean to Anderson, but hey. Invade it wasn't obvious, Rape in the next chapter. Also a bit of Whumpage with John and Sherlock, but no slash, not how I roll. Please review!_


	5. Chapter 5

_HAPPY EASTER! Sorry about all the typo's last chapter, I was doing it on my phone :]_ _Anyway, Geronimo! (Speaking of which, did anyone see The Bells of St John?) WARNING: Rape and violence coming up._

His head, oh god his head, it hurt so badly. He tried opening his eyes, and when he did he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He managed to control it though. What had hit him on the head? Probably a mug he didn't put back properly. It hurt like hell though. John would kill him if he had concussion.

He tried to get up and found he couldn't. He realised his wrists and ankles were tied, and there was some type of gag over his mouth, then he remembered the window, and the bang on the head, and it all fit together. 'Oh shit, shit, shit.' He thought to himself. 'John, John please, where are you?'

He struggled against his bonds, and he felt a foot to his back.

"Not so fast, virgin." Said the crude familiar voice of Jim Moriarty. Sherlocks breathing was getting quicker. _No, not now Sherlock, stay calm you have to stay calm_. "If you think anyone will be coming to your rescue, think again. Mrs Hudson is visiting her sister, and John is staying the night with Sarah. You should probably have listened to your brother. But now, I have you all to myself." He bent down, centimetres away from his ear. "_Alone._"

Sherlock mumbled something incoherent that Moriarty couldn't decipher.

"Sorry, what was that?" he said loosening the gag slightly.

"Mycroft, Mycroft will be suspicious." Sherlock whispered.

"Ah, yes, your brother. Well, you needn't worry about that, virgin." He said, showing Sherlock's mobile to his face. Sherlock's heart fell ten thousand feet.

_Surveillance cameras unresponsive Care to explain?-M.H_

_Shorted out the electricity, experiment went wrong. Whole streets gone out. Don't you have a government to overthrow?-SH_

He looked out the window, and sure enough there was no lighting down any of the street.

"H-how…"

"I have a man on the inside. Works closely, too bad you'll never know who he is. Now, shall we begin?

_Sherlock, make sure you have dinner.-JW_

_Sherlock? Sherlock please reply.-JW_

_Please Sherlock you're scaring me, pick up!-JW_

_SHERLOCK, PICK UP!-JW_

John put a hand to his face. God surely he hasn't….No, no the surveillance is too good, he's probably just in some sort of trance, that's what he does. He has, to be all right, he has to be….

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Sarah was next to him on the sofa, a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah, yeah it's just…you know…."

"Sherlock?"

"I think he might be in trouble."

"Will he be ok?"

"Hmm? Oh, oh yeah he should be fine…just fine." She put her hand on his.

"Go to him."

"Wh-what?"

"As annoying and obnoxious as he may be, I owe him my life. Go to him."

He smiled, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you. I shant be long, I promise."

"Just go! At this traffic, you won't get there in under an hour."

Sherlock felt himself start to tremble. He felt Jims cold hands turn him onto his stomach. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he regarded the terrified look in Sherlock's eyes, with one of ecstasy and sadism.

"N-no….please…" He mumbled beneath the gag. Moriarty just laughed.

"I would consider it an honour. Those victims, those ungrateful bastards unworthy of life, Danny gave them one last pleasure before they passed away, I get to give it to you as your first pleasure. This is personal, my dear boy couldn't be allowed to have such an honour."

Sherlock's breath sped up as Moriarty removed his trousers and boxers, to the point of what he sure were hyperventilation. He turned him onto his stomach and he heard the incredibly unsettling sound of a zipper being undone. _God no, not now, not to him._

"Brace yourself virgin." Said Moriarty. Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He managed to roll over, and kicked hard into Moriarty's exposed groin. He yelled in pain, and looked back at Sherlock with a look of mindless fury, and attacked, kicking Sherlock unprotected body, his foot landing and bruising upon impact. Sherlock grunted upon contact, each grunt getting louder until he was screaming. He forced his mind to reason with him and start producing data.

_Two, three ribs cracked or broken, severe damage to abdomen, will be passing blood for several days. Concussion can only be getting worse, nose surely broken by now. Bruised in several places, possible blunt testicular trauma judging by the accuracy of his kicks. All in all, fucking painful as hell._

"Well, virgin, I think I proved my point." He knelt by his ear. "_Don't fuck with me._"

He straddled Sherlock and after planting a soft kiss behind his ear, thrust inside Sherlock's bruised arse. He couldn't contain the scream that left his aching throat. Moriarty continued to thrust, each time growing more ruthless. Sherlock held back the tears that threatened to burn his eyes and gritted his teeth.

"Ah, nice tight virgin arse to get me through the day." He growled. Sherlock howled with renewed pain with each thrust. Moriarty had not used lubricant, let alone a condom, meaning there was a chance of an STI. That is, if he lived through this. What was likely is that he would end up like the other victims, strangled. _Oh god, John, please John come home._ He knew there was no choice begging for John, he wouldn't be home till tomorrow, and anyways, did he really want John to see him in such a shameful way. After a lot of thinking, he realised, humiliated, the answer was yes.

Moriarty soon thrust faster and faster, making Sherlocks tortured muffled yells louder and more terrifying. If possible, it made him all the more aroused. He laughed.

"Oh, my dear, what's wrong? You should be _enjoying _this! Think about it, you really do have a certain talent. You would make a worthy whore." Sherlock could no longer contain the tears that seeped from his eyes. Moriarty laughed and threw his head back as he came.

Oh god, he could feel it flowing inside him, spilling out, he felt disgusting. He wanted to throw up, but contained himself, knowing it would only add to the humiliation of the situation. _Oh god, just strangle me, get it over with, please. _Moriarty seemed to make up his mind.

"I'll be honest, Sherlock, your mind shall be of great loss. Perhaps not yourself, but your mind." Said Moriarty as he finally withdrew and took of Sherlocks gag.

"W-Wha…?" said Sherlock.

"Oh come on dear, do you really think anyone would _miss _you? Sherlock Holmes, the great sociopathic detective. No one cares for you. Not Mycroft, not John, not Mrs Hudson, not Lestrade, not even sweet little Molly. Why should she, when you criticize her 24/7. If any of them cared for you, why did they leave you alone in your hour of need? Why did they leave you when you couldn't be alone? Sherlock, I cared enough to give you the one personal experience you lacked before your untimely demise. No one closer than your enemy. Trust me Sherlock; you shall be no great loss."

He turned him over again, tutting at his mangled body.

"Time to say goodnight, dear."

John had never yelled at a cabby to go so fast in his life. He needed to know if he was ok.

As soon as he was at 221B, threw his wallet at the cabbie, telling him to keep the change and ran through the door. As he did, he heard a strangled cry for help. He ran up the stairs, three at a time, and almost fainted at the sight before him. A bloody, naked, blue-faced Sherlock Holmes, with a pair of hands round his throat. Jim Moriarty's hands.

John ran and threw himself at Moriarty, pinning him to the floor. The knock on his head blew him unconscious. He looked round at Sherlock. He had passed out. He put a shaking hand to his friend's pulse, which was slow and weak.

"Oh my god, Sherlock, Sherlock please be ok." He muttered more to himself than to the abused body next to him. How could he have let this happen? How could he have allowed his friend to have fallen in the hands of this psychopath? He forced himself to look at the wounds.

Broken ribs, severe injury to his head, genitalia, stomach, and leg. Some painful looking bruises, especially around the neck where he had been strangled. He also had a black eye. With shaking hands, he slowly turned him over. He covered his mouth with his hand. There was no doubt about it; he had been raped. He quickly picked up the phone and jabbed the number in.

"Hello, 999?"

_Dun dun dun! Poor Sherly. Oh well, I give him all the best. Well, till next time. So long, and thanks for all the fish. Please review :]_


	6. Chapter 6

_So much to do today! Ok, let's got on then with chapter 6._

John could feel himself drifting off, but forced himself to stay awake. He had to. Sherlock had been in surgery about two hours now. He had contacted Sarah saying he would have to reschedule, but felt he didn't need to contact Mycroft. He had seen the surveillance cameras in front of the building.

He put his head in his hands. He still couldn't shake the image of Sherlock's bloody, _abused _figure from his mind. He looked so helpless. He knew he had to be strong, for Sherlock at least.

"John."

He looked round and saw Lestrade, somewhat shocked, by the entrance. John stood up respectfully as he walked in and they shook hands.

"John, I just heard, look I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, I just can't believe it…..the other corpses were relatively unscathed, apart from the obvious damage inside, but Sherlock…..he destr_oyed _him."

"It'll be ok; they said there was no risk of death. And do you mind me asking who _he _is?" John sighed.

"Jim Moriarty. Who else?"

"Wait, wait, Sherlock told us-."

"This was a personal vendetta. He wouldn't give that honour to his pet." He put his head in his hands. "I just want him to be ok."

The doctor came in and John stood up immediately.

"Is he ok?"

"He's sleeping, but his injuries are serious. There is low chance of an STI, but it's not impossible. Three broken ribs, severe damage to his nose, genitalia and one of his legs. Other than that, just some serious bruising, and heavy concussion. He should be fine mentally, but I would recommend a therapist. He's been through quite a day." He said, probably trying to get it out in one go. John nodded, understanding, though privately he knew Sherlock wouldn't visit a therapist if he _dragged _him to one.

"Can I see him?"

"Of course, he should be waking up soon." John nodded and went through the ward.

Lestrade sat down. He had no need to see Sherlock now, he was just happy he was going to be ok. He thought about John, and how guilty he must feel. _Mycroft told him to stay with Sherlock, that he couldn't be left alone. And look what happened, Jesus. If it wasn't for him, Sherlock would be dead. Mycroft would either shower him with gratitude or kill him with guilt._

He looked up and saw the last person he expected walk through. Anderson.

"Anderson? Anderson what brings you here?" He said surprised.

"I-I heard what happened to Sherlock. I'm s-so sorry."

"Don't be, there was nothing any of us could have done."

Anderson sighed. Except he _could_ have done something, anything. Warned him, sabotaged the camera bugs, just _help _him. And now he was in intensive care and it was all _his fault._

"Craig, Craig you alright? You're white as a sheet!"

"Yeah I…I just can't believe someone could do this." Lestrade sighed.

"The worlds a cruel place, Craig. It's unbelievable how someone like Sherlock could allow this to happen to him. He was powerless. I know you two don't get along well, but thank you for coming and showing your concern." He said, clapping Anderson on the back. Anderson faked a small smile and went to go get water, he briefly saw John running into one of the rooms, and he realised it was Sherlock's.

John looked at the figure on the bed. He was deathly pale from blood loss, and covered with bandages, half of which he didn't remember what they concealed. The other half he could remember all too well. He sat by Sherlock's bed, holding his hand. Why had been so foolish as to listen to Sherlock and leave him on his own? Mycroft would kill him, and the depressing thing was that sentence may turn out to prove literal. No, right now he had someone else to worry about.

He gasped as Sherlock's eyes flickered, and then snapped open in terror. He managed to lift his head and looked around the room, his breathing getting faster. It soon struck John with a small pain that he was looking for his rapist.

"Sherlock, it's ok, it's only me here, just you and me." He said comfortingly. Sherlock stopped and focused on John. His breathing slowed down gradually, and he allowed John to push him back down. His breathing turned neutral after some comforting from John, and he swallowed and spoke.

"Where am I?" he said, knowing the answer all too well.

"Hospital, don't worry, it's for not too long. You…do you remember how you got here?" Sherlock looked at his hands and nodded. John put a hand on his shoulder.

"We will find him, Sherlock, Jim Moriarty won't get away with it that easily.

"Who knows?"

"What?"

"Who else knows about me?"

"Uh, Lestrade and your doctor. I assume Mycroft will find out soon enough. If you don't mind me asking, how did he get in?"

"The camera's…..his inside man disabled them, probably after you left." John felt a pang to his chest. _After he had left._

"Look, Sherlock I can't tell you how sorry I am that I let this happen to you."

"It's not your fault, I shouldn't have been so stubborn. No, I think I know who the blame lies with."

"Who?"

"Moriarty mentioned an inside man, someone obviously close, so not a criminal so to speak. Probably blackmailed into doing it. It had to be someone we knew so that we wouldn't be suspicious. Moriarty would have caused some damage to come to his family or something if he said no."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Whoever it is, must be eating them alive."

_Kate, we need to talk-CA_

_Kate, when can I see Peter? I miss him-CA_

_This can't be over, not yet, please. Text me-CA_

_What do you want me to do, call Jeremy Kyle? Kate!-CA_

_Please Kate-CA_

_Tell Peter Daddy said Hello-CA_

Anderson leant against the wall, a hand to his face. What was he going to do. He needed to tell someone, anyone. Just to get it out.

"Craig?"

Anderson looked up to see a concerned Lestrade. "Craig is everything ok?"

"Honestly? No."

"What's wrong?" Anderson sighed.

"Everything."

Anderson explained that he had moved out, changing the facts about it so that Moriarty wasn't involved. Lestrade listened, comforting him between sections of the story.

"Wow mate, you have it rough."

"Yeah but Sherlock has it rougher."

John had left Sherlock's room as he had fallen asleep, and was now listening to this part of the heartfelt conversation.

"I just love her so much, I….I want it to be alright."

"It can be, mate, you just got to fight for her. What's stopping you?"

"You have no idea."

John sighed. He guessed Anderson was no better. He knew well enough that relationship problems could be tough. Then it hit him. _Relationship problems._ Could it be some horrible coincidence? Perhaps, but why else would he see if Sherlock was ok? _He was the source._

Wait till Sherlock heard this.

_Aawwww poor Anderson. Sorry its been a long time, writers block next time. Please review!_


	7. Pre-chapter notes (correcting stupidity)

_Sorting out a dumb mistake I realise I made in the last chapter, thank you for pointing it out, bruderlein! So yeah, this isn't a chapter, just something to dispel issues._

Earlier that day...

Moriarty sat up with a groan, rubbing his head. He had hit it on the floor when that son of a bitch John had knocked him over. He looked around and saw Sherlock and John were him. He yelled in frustration, pounding the floor with his fist. He had been so _close. _He knew he was never, _ever_, going to get that kind of chance again. John wouldn't stay ten metres from him, not now.

He sighed pulling his clothes on. He couldn't help but smile slightly in satisfaction. Oh, how he loved to feel of a tight, virgin arse. Well, he left his mark. And soon he would get the job done.

Hey precious, just popping out. You really should have told someone about me.

I really thought you were more protective of your pet.

~JM

John was still waiting at this point, guilt awash over him when his phone buzzed. He looked at the text, nearly dropping his phone. He put his head in his hands. He had been so concerned for Sherlock he had forgotten about the body of the consulting criminal. How would he tell Sherlock? Would he be able to tell Sherlock anything anymore? He sighed, hating himself and continued to wait.

_again, not a chapter, just me fixing a stupid mistake :) till next time_


	8. Chapter 7

_Bored, just refraining myself for shooting the wall. The actual Chapter seven!_

Moriarty was climbing hurriedly up the stairs of the run down London block of flats and knocked on the door of number 42. Danny answered the door, bedraggled and half asleep. Little shit, it was midday.

"Oh, Sir, did you do it?"

"You couldn't be bothered to call yesterday? Anyway, no. I didn't get to kill him."

"What?"

"Exactly, Im never gonna get near the little shit again!"

"Wait wait wait, so what are we gonna do?"

"What are _you_ gonna do you mean? My lad, you have to kill him."

"What? No! I didn't rape him, we had a deal. Can't you get someone else?"

Moriarty was fuming, having never being talked to like that in his life, but then stopped, and smiled a malice smile.

"Actually there is _one _man."

Anderson set the bags down in the guest bedroom of Sally Donavon's house.

"Thanks again, Sally, I really appreciate this."

"Anytime, Baby. I hope you two can patch this up." He looked at her and smiled.

"No you don't."

"Yeah, well, we both know why that is." She said, smiling and moving behind Anderson. He turned around and kissed her passionately.

"I won't be here long I just need to…..sort things out."

"I hope you do, you've been so tense lately. Actually, I tried calling you yesterday to offer, but your phone was off."

"Oh yeah, they caught me texting at the hospital."

"The hospital?" Anderson's eyes widened.

"Y-you didn't know? It's Sherlock." She sighed.

"What's the freak done to him _this _time?" He looked at her, his eyes beginning to tear up.

"He was beaten, Sally. And _raped._"

Sally put her hands to her face, shocked.

"Oh god that's…..that's…"

"Awful, I know, I just can't believe something like this could _happen _to someone like him, to have his first experience to be so _vulgar._"

"He was a virgin?" Anderson nodded.

"He had a lot of blood loss, some broken bones, but he's gonna be ok, should be going home tomorrow." Sally smiled.

"Since when have you cared so damn much about him?" Anderson shrugged.

"I don't know, it's part of your training isn't it? Being sympathetic to those people, victims." She nodded.

"Maybe I'll ring up, show my respect, can't say he'd be to appreciative." She sniffed. "Need help unpacking?"

"No, I'll be fine." He said she smiled and kissed his neck before going to the kitchen to make tea. Almost the minute she was gone, his phone buzzed with a text. He looked, knowing all too well who it was.

There was a picture of Sherlock, casual and suave as always, with a large red cross covering the whole picture. The message was clear.

He had to kill Sherlock Holmes.

John was next to Sherlock in his room. He had to tell him, soon. But there was a part of him that still didn't want to believe it. _Anderson, Anderson had betrayed them. _The man was a bastard, but to betray his own college? It was such a un-Andersony thing to do. Had he had much of a choice? Probably not.

He didn't want to wake Sherlock, either. The more he slept, the quicker it would take him to heal. More than anything, he just wanted Sherlock to open up. As if the physical damage wasn't bad enough, his mental health was most likely something that needed much attention. To have his virginity taken from him so horribly, it was so inhumane. Sherlock had experience in practically everything, but this wasn't one of them. He really didn't want him to think that perhaps he was meant to find what happened to him to be _pleasurable_. He had always figured his friend was asexual, so that seemed to make it all the more worse.

Sherlock slowly started to wake up, smiling his crooked smile when he saw John with him.

"Hey, Sherlock."

"Hey."

"Look, there's something I found out….something you might want to know." Sherlock sat up.

"Y-you found him?"

"What? No, no but it's quite close. I think I know who his inside man is."

"Go on."

John sighed. "Sherlock, I think it was Anderson."

Sherlock was silent for several seconds after John had explained Anderson's conversation with Lestrade and the uncharacteristic concern for Sherlock. He listened carefully, not daring to interrupt. Eventually he spoke.

"I'll be honest John; your rudimentary powers of deduction amaze me."

"…..Thank you?"

"I would accept it as a compliment."

"So what do you think?"

"I think that you may be right. Can you tell Lestrade?"

"Sherlock, don't have enough evidence, this is a serious accusation."

"Trust me, John."

Sherlock looked up into Johns eyes, almost pleading. John realised that Sherlock was determined to find whoever assisted that bastard. John understood. He sighed,

"I trust you Sherlock, I'll talk to him."

_Sorry this chapters a bit short, it will be longer next time. Please review!_


	9. Chapter 8

_Hello again, Here's chapter eight, THE CONFRONTATION ! (Ooooh, Les Mis flashback)_

The next day, he was admitted home. He smiled as John helped him up. He was still sore and was carrying a limp, but other than that he was improving. With a doctor at home he would heal all the better. They got in to a cab after thanking the doctor and nurse (well, John thanked them) and they were on their way home. John couldn't help worrying. He had asked Mrs Hudson to clean up the living room for when they got back, which she had agreed willingly to. John hadn't told her, but she had taken one look at the state of the living room and seemed to make her mind up.

Sherlock seemed anxious about going home too. Could he possibly face it? God he hoped so. He knew how it would break John's heart to see him at his most vulnerable. But, then again, he already had. Sherlock shivered slightly. John saw and put his hand on Sherlock's comfortingly. Sherlock gave a half smile, not looking up from the cab floor.

"You ok?" Asked John. This time Sherlock looked round.

"Mycroft's going to be dragging me to some godforsaken therapist if I know him, and we think that a man we despise but solidly trust is working with the man who raped me. Not the best day, I'll be honest." He said, his expression remaining neutral. John sighed.

"It's gonna be ok. I swear I won't let the bastard near you."

"Somehow I figured your reply would go along those lines. I'll be fine John, can we please just forget about it?" This time he looked at John in the eyes, pleading almost. Sherlock had never pleaded in his life. John swallowed and nodded, not daring to promise. Sherlock couldn't bottle this up; he had to talk about it.

Mrs Hudson was still out, so John let them in. They walked into the living room, and John swore he saw something snap inside of Sherlock. Sherlock looked inside the room, trying his best to control his emotions. Stop it, ok, stop it. This is your living room, this is home. This is safe. He kept telling himself this, and managed to keep the tears that threatened to come at bay, but he couldn't stop the shivers that pulsed through his body. John put a hand on his upper arm, but Sherlock ignored it. He continued to look straight in the middle of the room, and slowly walked towards it. John wondered if it was such a good idea to have brought him home so soon. He knelt down and picked something up. It was a piece of cloth. It was what Moriarty had used to gag him. John put a hand to his face. Mrs Hudson must have missed it.

"When he was here." He said, still staring at the rag. "I wanted so hard to talk to him, to convince him, I tried," His voice faltered. "But I couldn't. I kicked out, I hurt him. He was s-so angry. He kicked me back, kicked and kicked." Now he couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. John held him, as Sherlock supressed a sob, wrapping his shaky arms around the ex-doctor. They stayed like that for a while, Sherlock crying into John, John trying so hard to comfort him. After about ten minutes, Sherlock broke away, wiping his eyes. John smiled.

"Sorry." Said Sherlock. "I just got a bit dramatic….." John looked Shocked.

"Sherlock, how you reacted was perfectly sound. I should have known better than to bring you home so soon." Sherlock shook his head.

"No, no it's fine. We have bigger things to worry about."

As he said this, there was a knock on the door. Sherlock looked at John, and then got up to go get it. Parts of his body still screamed at him when he moved, but he simply ordered his poor, battered body to plough through it. His body grudgingly agreed. The minute he walked down the stairs, John grabbed the hated bit of cloth and tossed it into the fire. He watched it burn for several seconds, feeling better. His therapist had once told him fire was therapeutic. He was beginning to see what she meant.

Sherlock walked up to the door, trying his best to hide his limp and opened the door to the last person he expected to be there. Molly Hooper. She looked up at him and Sherlock saw she had been crying. Her eyes held pity and concern, and Sherlock realised it hadn't been over her father.

"Molly, what's wrong?" He asked, putting a hand on her arm. She looked up into her eyes, trembling, and then burst into tears. Sherlock hesitantly pulled her into a hug, bringing her inside. He rocked her gently, making calming noises. She sobbed into his shirt, dampening it with her tears. Sherlock didn't care, holding her close. John watched from the top of the stairs, feeling his heart swell with compassion for the two. He smiled and moved to the kitchen to give the two some privacy.

Sherlock hold her tight, loving this moment. He wondered what was wrong with him. He was Sherlock Holmes, he never hugged, and then it occurred to him. This was his second time hugging Molly. He had never really felt so…compelled to someone like this before. He liked it. Molly pulled away, smiling gratefully.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I just can't believe this. This is what was supposed to happen to me. It should have been me…"

"No, no don't say that, you don't deserve it. If it happened to you, I wouldn't be able to handle it." He rocked her gently. She smiled, and he smiled too. Molly wondered how he was staying so strong. Molly had been a wreck and she hadn't even had it done. Sherlock had inner strength, something she did not possess. He still had bruises on his face, and his nose was disfigured after being broken. Molly shivered. Sherlock frowned.

"You must be cold, come in I'll get you a cup of tea." He said. Molly smiled and followed him. They passed John as he walked down the stairs. John smiled.

"Hello, Molly! Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, where are you going?" John bit his lip and turned to Sherlock.

"Im going to tell him. I think it should be in person, y'know?" Sherlock nodded seriously.

"Thank you, John. Good luck." John nodded and turned on his heal to leave.

"Tell who what?" asked Molly. Sherlock gave a sad smile.

"It's a long story

John hailed a cab, and sat back as it took him to Scotland Yard. He lay back, closing his eyes, he really didn't want to do this, but he had to. Someone had to know about this, but even John was finding all of it hard to digest. Anderson, betraying them.

"So when exactly were you planning to tell me?" Said a familiar voice. John looked up. In the passenger seat of the taxi was Mycroft.

"So, did you bribe the taxi driver or threaten him?"

"Started with one, turned to the other. John, I would like to know why I was not informed about my brothers...molestation."

"I...I thought you knew." Mycroft shook his head.

"I had a meeting in Corfu, something that does not concern you. I assume that the hospital couldn't reach me, but all the same. I think it would have been better you telling me..."

"Look, please, I didn't know-"

"Instead of me having to watch my brother break down in his flat." He turned to look at John.

"I assume you will be taking him to a therapist." John shrugged.

"It's his choice."

"He needs one."

"Mycroft, you know well enough that we can't force him. In his current condition..." He felt he needn't go on. Mycroft sighed.

"You better have a good plan, John Watson." He said as they pulled into Scotland Yard.

"Cab's on me. Take good care of my brother." John nodded and exited the cab. He watched it as it drove away. The cabbie had heard everything, but he was certain he could rely on Mycroft to make sure that what they spoke of didn't get out to the press.

He walked down Scotland Yard, the building so familiar, so why did the corridor seem so long? He took a deep breath and knocked on Lestrade's door. Anderson saw John and panicked slightly. He hung back and watched as he opened the door to Lestrade. He got closer so he was in earshot.

"Lestrade, good to see you."

"And you. Sherlock is he...is he ok?"

"I wouldn't go as far as that. Molly's with him now. They...they certainly click. It's rather sweet." Lestrade smiled.

"I can imagine, sort of. So, I take it this isn't a social call."

"No...look, when Sherlock was with him, Moriarty apparently mentioned an inside man, who was perhaps blackmailed. We gathered some evidence, considered a few people..."

"And?"

"...I'm so sorry Lestrade, we think it was Anderson."

Lestrade's eyes widened and he went into Sherlocks thinking pose.

"No, no not Anderson it can't be."

"All things considered, we have to take it as a possibility."

John began to explain, and with each word, Andersons heart sank further in his chest. So, he had it all figured out. Oh god oh god oh god...what now. Sherlock. He had to do it now before they went after him.

"And you're sure about this?" Asked Lestrade when he was done. John shrugged.

"I've presented you with the evidence. As Sherlock would say, make a deduction." Lestrade sighed, then seemed to make up his mind.

"Bring him to my office."

John turned around and saw Anderson looking at him through the office door. He had heard everything. Anderson shook his head and ran as fast as he could. John went out, watching him.

"He's getting away!"

Lestrade grabbed his walkie talkie, calling a unit to go after him.

"Any idea where he's going?" John nodded.

"He's going after Sherlock."

_Oh no! What will happen? We'll see next time. Byee! Please Review!_


	10. Chapter 9

I….AM….SO…SORRY!_ I have returned from the land of no internet (AKA my grandmother's house) And I am raring to write! Sorry it took so long, Chapter nine._

Sherlock brought the tea to the living room. It had only taken the amount of time for the kettle to boil to roughly explain the situation, as he had emitted all but the most essential details. But even his brief recap turned him cold. Molly was patient and thanked him for her tea, mixing in a generous amount of sugar.

"Thank you for coming, Molly." He said. He was looking into his tea. His mind was yelling at him. _Oh for god's sake, man up. You were lucky, so stop fawning over it. Delete it, just delete it._ Molly seemed to sense his discomfort, and put a hand to his arm. He looked at her, his face so lost and helpless. When he had been in hospital, he was more preoccupied with his wounds and his enemy that he didn't really have time for the mental aftermath. But now to be flung so quickly back to where he….where it happened, it was too much. Molly recognised his silent plea for help, the same sort she made in the hospital in Barts, a day which seemed almost a million years ago. She couldn't help herself and wrapped her arms around him in a way he could only hope he didn't interpret as sexual and more friendly. He hugged back with shaking hands. He thanked the gods Molly was so kind and patient to put up with him. He remembered something Moriarty had said to him:

_'Oh come on dear, do you really think anyone would miss you? Sherlock Holmes, the great sociopathic detective. No one cares for you. Not Mycroft, not John, not Mrs Hudson, not Lestrade, not even sweet little Molly. Why should she, when you criticize her 24/7?'_

He pulled back, suddenly feeling weak. He closed his eyes. Casting his mind back to the scene had reviled all the half deleted memories, bringing him back to square one. He forced himself not to cry out._Memories, too many memories, no no no stop please stop._

As he thought this, he turned to Molly, but she was no longer looking at Sherlock, but behind him. Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to turn around, but made himself twist to face whatever lurked behind him. He had thought as much.

Anderson stood by the door, a Beretta 92 in his hand.

He stood up and slowly walked over. Anderson was physically shaking, and Sherlock saw the gun was still on safety. He didn't want to shoot.

"So, Anderson. It's come to this. I always thought it would be me first to reach the point of murder."

"Your famous one liner's aren't going to get you out of this one, Holmes."

"Ah of course not, but they do make the situation a lot less dull. Moriarty, of course, sent you here?"

"I had no choice, Holmes, please believe me."

"Oh, I believe you alright. Who was it then, wife, kid, parents?"

"Why do you care?!"

"Just a conversation starter. Shame you got roped into the game, even with a man of your intellect I assumed you would be brighter than to get caught into this."

"Shut up ok, SHUT UP! Just let me do what I need to. I have orders to kill you. And her."

Sherlock felt himself go cold. _Dear god no, not Molly, I can't let her get into danger again. _He turned to her. She was now shaking slightly. He turned back to Anderson, pure fury in his eyes.

"You leave her alone, understand me? This is our fight not hers!"

"I was told to eliminate anyone with you, I'm sorry."

"We can cover this up, I'll pay you anything, but for gods sake let her go!" Anderson was stunned, then couldn't help but smile.

"You would pay money, make negotiations with your killer to save some _girl_, but not so save yourself." Sherlock moved closer, till the gun was just inches away from his heart.

"She is not just 'some girl', do you understand me? She's amazing. She is kind, loving, and was patient enough to put up with my shit and still help me when I needed her most, so do not even try to degrade her, you hear me? I will never delete the memories of what happened to me, and right now she is the only one who can help me, so if you take her you may as well take me too."

Molly was shocked. Sherlock didn't look back after his speech, but Molly knew that he had bigger things to worry about. All she could do was sit and wait, as she honestly didn't know how to help, but she was happy to go, now that she knew. Sherlock loved her. She could hardly believe it.

Anderson seemed calm, but deep inside he knew he couldn't do it. Sherlock was a lot of things. Rude, sociopathic, arrogant, and a smug old bastard, but he was also a human being. And no human being deserved to die. Sherlock could sense this. He slowly moved his hand towards the gun and lowered Anderson's hand.

"Lestrade and John will be here any minute; you came from the yard so they must have seen you leave. We can help you, nobody has to die today." Anderson now had tears in his eyes. He shook his head.

"There's nothing I can do. They're probably gone, right now." He raised the gun again, and snapped the safety off. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock closed his eyes. He would welcome it, as surely nothing else could cure the scars on his mind except that bullet. _Molly, I'm so sorry._

But what happened next was not the blinding pain of a bullet to his heart, not the cascade of blackness he had been expecting, ready to embrace. What happened next was John's gun to Andersons head, and two squad officers joining him along with Lestrade. Sherlock ran to Molly, who was gripping him tightly. She smiled as they pulled apart, and then kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you." She whispered into his ear. He smiled and kissed her back. But right now anything further could wait. He had business to attend to. He walked up to Anderson, slowly as he saw the face growing with hatred.

"This isn't your fault, Anderson. We can get you protection, and find him. Wherever he is, we can find him."

"No, you can't protect anyone from him, you know well enough. You were left alone for what, ten minutes? Look what happened to you!" Sherlock flinched at the last sentence. John watched the colour drain from Sherlocks face. _Flashback. God Anderson, you think _he_ isn't tactful._

"It won't be like that, I promise you. You won't be left alone not for a second. We can protect you."

Anderson's phone buzzed. He reached into his pocket to get it, stopped as the guards reached for their guns. Sherlock raised his hand to stop that and nodded at Anderson to continue. He got his phone and looked at the screen. One multiple media message from Moriarty. His hands shook as he opened it. It was Kate, beautiful and radiant as ever. But on top of the picture was a blood red cross. Anderson dropped the phone. He put a hand to his face.

"I failed." He whispered. "She's gone." He looked at the gun in his hand and seemed to make his decision.

"Look." Said Sherlock. "Listen to me, don't do anything irreversible."

"Tell Peter Daddy loves him." He said finally and before anyone could stop him, the Berretta was in his mouth and he pulled the trigger.

_Noooo! Last chapter next! Thank you anyone who has followed, favourited, reviewed or just taken the time to read this, it means a lot :)_


	11. Epilogue

_Last chapter! Well, more of an epilogue. Thank's again to all your support, means a lot._

"Here lies Craig Anderson, loving husband and father. April 3rd 1971-April 15th 2013. Alongside him lies Katherine Anderson, Loving wife and mother. January 17th 1988-April 15th 2013. May they both rest in eternal peace."

The funeral didn't have much if the turn up they were expecting. The only people attending were Sally, Greg, Molly, Sherlock and John to everybody's surprise, and Peter. Sally had been the only one to cry. The ceremony had been short, and they paid their respects quickly. Greg was partly trying to get over the initial shock of Anderson's treachery. Sherlock couldn't show much grief to the man who nearly killed him, ditto to John and Molly. Then there was Peter, but Sherlock was unsure to weather or not he truly understood. His father had died when he was young, and he hadn't wanted to believe it. Mycroft had taken charge of the house as mummy was too overcome with grief. Sherlock strongly disagreed, and they would have large rows. It always did upset mummy. But they had been so busy arguing the hadn't seen just how effected mummy truly was, till the grief became too much and she ended her life.

They paid their final respects and John headed off, expecting Sherlock to follow him, but he stayed alongside Peter instead. Peter was laying flowers on the grave. He looked up at Sherlock, who had gingerly put his hand on the boys shoulder.

"Sir?" Peter said after a while.

"Yes?"

"Where has daddy and mummy gone?" The expectancy in his voice was enough to kill him. He sighed, knowing right now the truth wasn't completely necessary right now.

"Well...they've gone to a very happy place now."

"But will I see him again?" Sherlock sighed sadly.

"I'm afraid not." He saw the boys face fall. He knelt down in front of him. "But listen to me. If you think of him often enough, relive his memory, continue to love him, he will never have gone."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Just one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Why did they have to go?" Sherlock looked deep into his eyes now.

"Your father, he was one of the bravest men I've known. He protected you, you and your mother, and they both did what was best for you. He was a hero."

"Thank you sir."

Sherlock nodded and patted his shoulder. He got up and left walking towards John who had seen the whole thing.

"Well done Sherlock, that was a nice thing you did."

"I know how he feels."

"Hmm?"

"I'll explain later. Ill meet you back at Baker Street ok?"

"Yeah sure...will you be ok?"

"Yeah...yeah fine."

John watched him walk of. He knew he shouldn't leave him alone. Moriarty was still out there. He wasn't safe. But he watched him go over to the cherry tree in the yard, and in the bench underneath it was Molly. They were holding hands! John had never seen anything like it. Then he bent over and passionately kissed her. They stayed like that for a while and Sherlock pulled away, looking into her eyes. John smiled. Sherlock still needed healing, and he knew Molly was going to be some of the greatest help they could acquire. John turned on his heal and left the graveyard. For now Sherlock was safe, but god knows he wasn't going to stay safe.

_Thank's again for anyone who has supported me :) I MIGHT do a sequel if I get enough request for it. Thank you :)_


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